Worried about the wrong "f" word
A guest post on deconstructing religious language by Marla Taviano
Hello and welcome to Healing is my Special Interest, the newsletter at the intersection of late-diagnosed neurodivergence and healing from high control environments. Today we have a DELIGHTFUL post by a delightful person — the one and only Marla Taviano. I love how she uses poems and humor to get straight to the point and to deconstruct all the ways that oppressive systems silence us by calling for appeals to civility. Be sure to check out her substack and her books of poetry — I love them all!
As always, I am able to pay guest writers like Marla thanks to the support of readers like you :)
Worried about the wrong "f" word
Deconstructing the Idea that Certain Words are “Sinful”
Guest post by Marla Taviano
“Ewww!” I look at my 8-year-old brother with disgust and wrinkle my nose. “Did you fred?”
Welcome to my childhood home. The year is 1986, I am 11 years old, and I am not allowed to say the word “fart.” (I asked my mom recently where the substitute “fred” came from and she said she had no idea. So helpful.) I can’t say “butt” either. No need to use a random man’s name as a euphemism in this case though—both “bottom” and “rear end” are acceptable to my mom. Why bottom but not butt? Why fred but not fart? Who knows?
Cussing is not even on my radar in 1986. I won’t say the word “damn” or “shit” out loud until I’m 12 (1988), and my friend Rebecca and I dare each other to say the words to each other alone in her bedroom. If I remember correctly, that was just a phase though. I went right back to being a good Christian girl, then a good Christian teenager, good Christian young woman, wife, mom, missionary, you get it. If I got angry (which was frowned upon), I said dang, not damn; crap, not shit. What’s the difference? Who knows?
Thennnnnnn I started to deconstruct. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. It wasn’t something I actively did. It just happened. Around 2009, my once bulletproof belief system started cracking, then crumbling, then yes, I tore it all down. (I wrote three whole books about it if you’re curious.)
And while people tossed little jabs at me, like “you’re just deconstructing so you can have sex with whoever you want,” the only “bad” habit I picked up from the heathens and liberals—whose side I had slowly defected to—was cussing. Because I slowly concluded that it’s only “bad” because some people say it is.
Fast forward to 2025. I’m 49, and “fuck” is my absolute favorite word, to the dismay of the handful of evangelical Christians who still follow me for some reason on social media.
“What I want to know is, why are you so enamored with the f word, Marla?” one of them recently asked.
Why so enamored? For a plethora of reasons actually. Should we explore/discuss some of them?
Reason #1: It’s satisfying.
For starters, as a person who has always loved words and their etymologies and compositions—and don’t get me started on syntax—I loved reading about the word “fuck” in the novel, Joan Is Okay, by Weike Wang (p 67) a few years ago. She says “fuck” is so satisfying to say because “most English swears rely heavily on continuant-stop sound patterns.” In other words, you can hold the f sound in fuck for a very long time, but the k sound you can’t. Fffffffffffuck! “And this is what gives most swear words that punch.”
Speaking of word nerdery, do you know what an infix is? Instead of a prefix at the beginning of the word or suffix at the end, an infix is in the middle. And that infix is known as “tmesis” if it happens to be an expletive, as in “abso-fucking-lutely.”
Reason #2: It makes pain more bearable.
It’s not just satisfying; studies have shown that saying “fuck” can increase your pain tolerance. If anyone ever forces you to keep your hand in ice water, science says you’ll last longer if you say “fuck.”
But satisfaction and pain avoidance aren’t the primary reasons I’m such a huge fan of the word.
Reason #3 (and the biggest): It exposes hypocrisy.
I’m fascinated—and motivated—by things I was always told were “sins,” things that “harmed God” or “made him sad,” but upon further review, do not appear to be harmful after all. Like drinking alcohol (in moderation). Showing cleavage or your stomach or “too much” of your thighs. Things like voting Democrat. Or skipping church. Or being gay. Or saying “fart.”
During those long years when my long-held beliefs were slowly falling apart, I started to realize that evangelical Christians had a really distorted view of sin. They invented things that they said “harmed God” but didn’t give a rat’s ass about things that actually harmed actual people.
Not only that, but they got all pissed about things Jesus never even talked about (being gay, saying fuck, abortion) and ignored what he said about caring for the immigrant and giving your possessions to the poor and not hoarding wealth.
I wrote a whole bunch of poems about it in my books. Here’s a short one:
fascism is here
y’all are worried
about the wrong
damn f-word
Slowly, but surely, the word “fuck” became my go-to clapback against this fake-ass morality I was seeing from evangelicals. My word choice was an intentional jab at hypocritical christians who clutch their pearls when they hear words like “fuck” and “shit” yet cast their pearls before swine (Matthew 7:6), i.e., a racist rapist felon president.
They’re soooooo offended by my “vulgar mouth” but voted for the most vulgar human in recent history and apparently have no qualms about his incessant lies and vicious cruelty. They’re cool with unfair, inhumane treatment of our fellow humans (the trans community and Black/brown immigrants, to name a few), but call me dirty for putting four letters together and forming a harmless word with my mouth.
Poem time:
shock value
if me using the word
fuck wakes you up out
of your torpor and makes
you aware of injustice
then dropping the f-bomb
was more than worth it
Someone asked me recently why I couldn’t find another way to speak up against injustice if it was so important to me. EYE ROLL. I’ve been speaking up against injustice for a couple decades now, and saying “fuck” is what finally got your attention.
So, it’s the plan for the foreseeable future.
Reason #4: It’s fun. And funny.
A couple years ago, I started making what I call poem art where I cut my poems out of my books and glue them onto illustrations from vintage children’s books—Frog & Toad, Berenstain Bears, Strawberry Shortcake (and a few hundred others). It’s cathartic, it’s playful, it’s life-giving.
On Inauguration Day this year, I was speechless, heartsick. I couldn’t even muster the energy to make art. So I found some illustrations of angsty characters and glued one word to them: fuck. I did it all day long. And the next day. And the next day. And many many days since.
And it brings me joy, makes me laugh, gets me through another day in this country gone to hell. And, yeah, I wrote a poem about it:
fuxtaposition
gleefully gluing
the word fuck
on illustrations of
beloved childhood
characters is my
new favorite hobby
We need joy and art and laughs and play to keep us going right now. This f-art habit is giving me life.
Reason #5: I’m almost fifty and out of fucks.
I’ll turn 50 on Halloween this year, and I’m so happy about it. It’s true what they say about getting older and just not caring about stuff as much anymore.
It’s also funny that I simultaneously have so little fucks to give and yet I give a fuck about a lot of stuff. Like food and shelter and healthcare and safety and equality and love and life and wholeness for everyone.
One last poem before I go.
you don’t have to
use the word fuck
to be my people
you can be my people
just by letting others be
Are you my people? If you have a minute, I’d love to meet you in the comments and hear some of your story!
Marla Taviano is into books, love, wholeness, cheese, anti-racism/capitalism/patriarchy, blue, gray, rainbows, poem art, and the f word. She reads and writes for a living, wears her heart on her t-shirts, and is on a journey to live wholefarted (not a typo). She's the author of unbelieve, jaded, whole, mouth (+ some books with longer titles) and lives in South Carolina with her kids and her cats. Find out more at marlataviano.com or substack: marlataviano.substack.com or IG: Marla Taviano
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FRIEND. I am soooooo honored that I got to guest post in this amazing space you've created and curated. And soooooo grateful for you leading the way in deconstructing toxic systems and making weird protest-y subversive fun shit. Plus also, not gonna lie, I needed this money today (but would write for you for freeeeeee). Love you dearly and I'm so fucking happy you're in the world!!
Marla is THE best. 🩷